


Blood-red Sails

by HelenTheMoon



Series: Bloody Morigan [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Gen, Humor, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 22:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19777882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenTheMoon/pseuds/HelenTheMoon
Summary: Connor sees a stranger standing next to Achilles's grave.





	Blood-red Sails

A stranger was standing in front of Achilles’ grave with an unreadable expression on his face.

He was a man Connor had never seen before; he was sure he would remember a man who had the same built as himself. He was paler than most Colonials, and his black hair, ties in a ponytail like a gentleman, had started greying. He also had a deep scar over his right eyebrow which could not possibly been done by a sword. His clothes were formal and showed wealth, but they were also practical; it reminded Connor of the way his father used to dress.

The man carried all sorts of weapons with him – in fact, Connor had never seen any other man as heavily armed as he himself was and yet here this man was. With a strange gun shorter than a musket but long enough to be strapped across his back, two flintlocks, a cutlass and a dagger. But that was not all. Connor was surprised to pick out several trademark Assassin weapons: rope-darts, smoke bombs, darts (were _these_ what that peculiar gun was firing!?) and of course, the twin Hidden Blades.

_“There are no more Assassins in the Colonies.”_. That was what Achilles had told him so many years ago. Did that mean that this man was coming from a Brotherhood from another country, like Aveline? Connor was about to approach the man and ask him just that when he noticed something _else_ about his appearance. A ring that looked identical to the one his father was wearing. And the Templar Cross on the fastening of the belt he had strapped the long gun with.

Connor was half shocked and half enraged. What was a _Templar_ doing at _Achilles’_ grave? Why was a Templar here in the Colonies in the first place? And why did he have a Hidden Blade with him!?

The man did not seem to have noticed him yet. Connor took that as the perfect chance. He unstrapped his bow and with a motion which had been practiced a thousand times over, he drew an arrow over the bow’s string and aimed for the man’s vital organs. He would normally aim for the neck or the heart, but he did not want to kill him instantly. He had to interrogate him first.

And then the man turned his head around and in spite of all the distance, he looked at Connor straight in the eye.

His eyes seemed to freeze Connor. But not because they were hateful or cold. They were _sad_. Connor had never seen such a deep grief before. Many layers deep inside the man’s brown eyes, there seemed to be nothing else in there. In wonder and full of confusion, Connor called the spirit of the wolf inside him and activated his other Sight. The large animal got out of Connor with a small leap and approached the man sniffling him.

And then, for the first time ever, something unbelievable happened. The man actually bent on his knees and with a thin smile he _rubbed_ the wolf between his ears. Normally _no-one_ could see the animal spirits of Eagle Vision. And Connor was even more stunned when a Hawk appeared out of the blue and circled around the clearing before diving and landing on a branch above Connor’s head.

Connor this time turned his attention to the man’s colours. He was not glowing blue as an ally would; that was to be expected. But he was not glowing gold either; in other words, that man was not a target. He was not even glowing red! Instead of all that, the man was glowing _white_. Connor could not make any sense out of the colour. What did it mean? Was this man someone of neutral intentions? But, if _that_ was the case, he would be a transparent grey in his Vision, not _white_. Then was this man neutral but too important to be ignored?

Said man was approaching Connor with large and heavy steps, but not offensive in any way. Connor slowly lowered his bow and deactivated his Sight. The two animals disappeared. He was so confused. His mind was reeling with questions. And he summed them all up into a single one, which he expressed as soon as the man was within hearing range. “Who are you?”.

The man took another two steps before stopping and his expression slowly turned into one of surprise. “You mean you’ve neve’ heard of me?”. His voice was deep, and Connor could not place his accent. It was nor British nor French, and even though he could pick traces of American accent, it was not from here either. Connor decided to say the truth. “No.”.

“… I see…”, said the man thoughtfully. “I’m a ghost, then.”, he said lightly.

Connor sneered at that. “And who do you haunt?”, he demanded.

“Nobody any longer.”, he replied. “Anyone who ever knew me is dead.”.

“Were you the one who killed them?”, asked Connor, connecting a few dots and he pointed at the Hidden Blades. “All of the Assassins in the Colonies?”.

“Aye.”, replied the man. No refusal. No boasting. Not even the slightest pride. Only deep, deep sadness. Connor was stunned.

“Is that _all_ you have to say?”, he snapped. “You, a Templar with a Hidden Blade whom I have never seen before appears all of the sudden to visit Achilles’ grave? And then you just admit that you have killed every person who has ever known you? _Explain_. Who are you?”.

The man looked at him for a long moment. “Shay Cormack.”.

Connor just stood there. For some sort of reason the name sounded somewhat familiar. Like he had heard it somewhere before. But where? His eyes fell on the old man’s grave. And a memory from a long time ago struck him. An image of Achilles rubbing his knee. _“Darn it, Shay…”_.

“I had overheard Achilles mention you once. You had something to do with his knee that was crippled.”.

The man – Cormack - nodded in acknowledgement. “I was there when your father shot him.”.

Wait, what? “My father never mentioned you in his journal.”.

Cormack’s expression turned unreadable again. “He didn’t?”. He did not expect an answer. Instead, he turned around to leave.

“Where are you going?”, called out Connor.

The man stopped. For a second too long, he just stood there, deep in thought. And then, out of a fold of his overcoat he revealed a sleek wooden box. In a flash he was right next to Connor and literally forced his to take the box. “Take this. But never open it. It _can’t_ open. And even if you find a way, still don’t. Don’t let _anyone_ ever open it. Nobody should ever go after the artifacts that the map in this box shows…”.

“Why should I take you word?”, asked Connor irritated.

Something inside the man snapped. “ _Thousands_ have died over this damned box, Connor Kenway!”, hissed Cormack, and Connor was shocked by the way the man said his name. No-one had ever called him _that_ before. “Do you want to take _more_ lives? _Fine_! Take mine! In front of so many lives lost, one more hardly matters. But neve’, _never_ do the same mistake as I did.”. Cormack’s words were full of raw pain, desperation, and self-loathing. Connor felt a pang of pity for the man – something he had never felt for a Templar before.

“I understand.”. After all, he did remember the time when he was somehow transported to that alternative false reality created by the Apple Commander Washington had in his possession. And he somehow knew that this box was made by the same spirits that had created the Apple, the Amulet, Captain Kidd’s treasure and even the crystal orb back in his village.

Cormack nodded. And once again, he turned around to leave. “Who were you to give this to?”, asked him Connor.

“Your father.”. _Oh_. And then he proceeded to leave. But then he changed his mind. “Oy, Connor!”.

Connor felt a pang of irritation this time. First name basis? “What?”, he demanded.

Cormack’s stance had completely transformed. Right now he looked as if he was curious about a very interesting subject. “That Headless Horseman at the Godrick’s Hollow; is he still around?”.

Connor stared at the man like he had grown a second head. “Yes, but…”. Suddenly a part of the tension from earlier washed off. “I _knew_ he was real…”.

Cormack picked that up. “And you’ve told that to _Achilles_?”.

Connor was confused by now. “Yes, he was wearing a pumpkin instead of a head…”.

Cormack stared. And then, he lost it. “HA HA HA! I can’t believe you’ve actually told the Old Man abou’ the Horseman! And he was wearin’ a pumpkin… God, I’d _love_ to see that… Bet he looked outraged for you believing in fairytales or somethin’… God, this should’ve been _fun_ …”.

Connor was downright baffled. “You definitely knew Achilles…”, he said half awkwardly and half incredulous at the man’s terrible sense of humour.

After laughing a little longer – and attracting many strange looks from the homesteaders – Cormack finally calmed down. He looked around the Homestead. “This has become quite a nice place.”, he muttered to himself. And then his gaze to the meteor on top of the hill. “How long has tha’ thing been there?”, he asked.

“It has always been here.”, replied Connor, wondering why would Cormack make such a question.

“It wasn’t there when I jumped off the cliff.”. _Jumped off the cliff?_

And with that he finally left.

Cormack was already quite far away when Connor snapped out of his trance. He motioned to follow the Templar, but stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of the harbor.

There was another Brig beside the Aquila. She was smaller, but she was more heavily armed; Connor even saw two Mortar cannons on deck. And then she unfurled her sails. Connor felt a lump climbing up his throat. The sails were blood-red, with white decoration at the edges and a black crest with two lions and the Templar Cross on them. Cormack was at the wheel. The Brig set sail to the way out of the harbour and as she turned around, Connor managed to see her name. The Morrigan.

_“I’ve killed every person who has ever known me.”. “_ Thousands _have died over this damned box!”._ Connor looked at the box in his hands. And then at the imposing vessel of the Templar which was being lost to the horizon. For some sort of reason, he felt like a huge responsibility he did not understand had just been bestowed on his shoulders. _Again_.

He started spreading a rumour. About the bloody Morrigan whose sails had been painted red with the blood of the people her Captain had killed. Connor felt like Shay Cormack deserved to have something in his name. Even if it was just a horrid legend.


End file.
